Messy thoughts and bouts of crying

Do you ever feel like you are so fragmented in your life that you can’t actually sit down and get anything done? Like your thoughts are all over the place and you can’t finish a task and you are so poorly organized that it almost makes you a little insane? I can’t think it’s just me.

This past week I haven’t written anything. Mostly because I haven’t been able to organize my thoughts for long enough to get them out. You know? So I didn’t blog and I just let the thoughts ramble around my head until I felt a little crazy, until I cried over yet another episode of Grey’s Anatomy (I really need to stop watching that show because it just depresses the shit out of me). Last week was the week for breakdowns and feelings of “I can’t” and crying and screaming at kids like a crazy person. It was the week for starting a bunch of tasks and completing zero of them. The week of making big goals, getting overwhelmed by those goals and then having a breakdown because I felt overwhelmed by my huge goals that I had yet to even start other than writing them down.  I did not have my shit together on any level. It was a week of crying to chad over the phone because I felt overwhelmed with the kids and life. Of asking him to call me from work just so I can freak the fuck out over the phone with Dexter crying in the background and Ramona crawling all over me when ALL I WANT TO DO IS DRINK MY COFFEE WHILE IT’S HOT WHY CAN’T KIDS PLAY IN THEIR ROOM FOR 2 FUCKING SECONDS??!! I didn’t know how I was going to get anything done when the smallest task seemed daunting. Like putting on pants. Or showering. So I was the stinky kid with the insane look in her eyes last week. I was scary screaming mommy with no patience.

Needless to say, it was a rough go for everyone involved.

Sometimes shit just gets to be too much, and life becomes too challenging to do anything other than watch Sarah and Duck and feed the kids pb&j sammies for lunch. And dinner. 

Stop judging me.

But this is a new week and we are back at the hospital this week for Noah’s inpatient chemo. So I will write more this week. Because how else will I be able to talk about night nurses or telling our nurse I have to run to the car to get something when really I am going to Starbucks.

Anyway, I had to wake up this morning at 5am so I could get alone time.

So that is my reality today. Also I warmed up coffee from yesterday.

I figure if I set my standards super low there is no where to go but up.

3am thoughts

It’s 3am. To say I’m tired would be doing a disservice to my current emotional state. Exhausted. Spent. Drained. 

Noah has to pee every 4 hours because of his chemo. So even if Dexter decides to start gracing me with sleeping through the night, I’d still have to be up. 

Ever gotten a child out of a deep sleep? It’s like trying to reason with your drunk uncle. He’s belligerent and borderline emotionally abusive and convinced I’m trying to kill him. 

So you know…like being on a playground in hell. 

Because of the shrieking screams Dexter is up now too. My back is killing me because my bed is bowing in the middle.

Also we aren’t at Seidman this time, with the floor ceiling windows and WORKING COFFEE MAKER. We are at Rainbows where our windows are right above a flood light. Or devil light. Light so bright that when someone walks by (it’s motion activated) you’re basically staring into the sun.

Our 20 something resident came in too early this morning again singing SINGING “good morning” to us. I’m planning on making a shank out of my toothbrush so I’ll be ready for that bitch next time. 

Ode to our night nurse

I’d like to dedicate this 1am blog post to our night nurse.

I’m not quite sure what I enjoyed more, being woken up to you trying to convince my STILL SLEEPING son to keep a thermometer in his mouth, or his crying that resulted from you thinking you can just take his blood pressure while he’s not aware of what’s going on. I realize you probably don’t have kids. I came to that assumption right around the time you told me you thought it was my 8 month old son coming out of the bathroom ON HIS OWN instead of me. While the sound concert of the toilet flushing and you attempting to put on your chemo hospital gown was entertaining, ideally I would have preferred it not to have happened right next to my sleeping baby.


Was it necessary for you to speak in normal tones? Night time is for whispering. We aren’t at a concert. I can HEAR YOU perfectly fine if you chose to use hushed tones. 

Lastly, I would ask that you just go the fuck away from our room at night from now on. 

I am not under the illusion that I will actually be going to sleep in a hospital. The bed is uncomfortable, and I have to get Noah up to pee every 4 hrs which normally consists of me carrying him like a baby to the bathroom while feverishly praying that my back doesn’t just snap in two or I pull something I’ll need later on. 

I get it. Sleep isn’t happening. But all I ask is that you FUCK OFF  our room from now on. Or I’ll throat punch you and blame it on night terrors. 


Chemo and Coffee

There are few things more depressing than the cancer wing of a children’s hospital. I mean I’m sure there ARE more depressing places. War torn Syria. Auschwitz. But for my life experiences to date, this would be the winner. The top of the cake of horse shit that you experience when your kid has cancer. You see, one day you’ll come into clinic with your coffee, carrying your bags and checking Facebook as your son plays video games with one of the volunteers. You will strike up a conversation with another parent about how shitty it is that the Keurig on the young child’s side is always broken (they separate young adults from younger kids on the clinic floor). You laugh about always being tired and then you’ll look to see his baby. His actual BABY. I’d say around 12months old. Tiny wisps of hair on his (her?) head. Small enough to be in a stroller. You get caught up in the new normalcy of your life. Chemo is normal. Clinic days are normal. Nurses are normal. Pokes and prods are normal. But you know the thing is…it’s not. None of it is. These kids are going through some shit that we will never be able to really understand. We just clean up the puke and administer the meds. We look at them constantly. Looking looking looking for any change. Searching for any complaint. It’s easy to fall into a routine. Forget about the seriousness of it all. Because you know it’s fucking depressing to think about CANCER all the time. The weight of the word CANCER is enough to stop your breath and slow your steps.

Fuck man.

We are doing our second inpatient chemo this week. I will have to be sober for this. So that sucks.


I forgot my coffee cup so I have to use this:


Because shit isn’t hard enough.



The thing with being a mom and having mom friends, is there is always 2 conversations going on. The conversation that is actually happening, and the one that is hidden in the undertones of the words. The judgement that is laced in with the words and sentences. Because the choices you make as a mom, are conscious ones. You choose to breastfeed or formula feed, you choose to co sleep or use a nursery. You choose to spank or to use gentle parenting. These are all choices. These choices also define who you are as a mom, and in turn who your mom friends will usually be. Like gravitates to like. So most of my friends breastfeed their babies. We talk about weaning and night feedings and go to nursing mom groups. It’s not to say I think another way of parenting is wrong, it’s just not what I have chosen for my babies or myself. So because all of these choices are incredibly personal, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I go into a fight stance when these choices are scrutinized or judged. But that is what moms do right? I mean if you’re an asshole you do.

Not that I do.

Ok, I am an asshole. Not the worst thing I’ve ever been called.

While I can’t speak for anyone else, my judgement usually stems from some sort of jealousy. The green eyed monster has been known to climb into the chair next to me and stay for a bit. But in the idea of honesty, I will talk about some of the things I get judgy about.

Date Nights. Chad and I had a date the other day for our 4 year anniversary. We haven’t been alone out of the house together since Dex was born so you’d think this would be a big date. I planned it around nap time and there was a time limit. So. Yea. We don’t have the luxury of big date nights. We don’t have the money and we don’t have sitters that can watch all 3 kids for long periods of time. My parents are our go-to child watchers/ringleaders. But the 3 kids can get overwhelming. I get it. I get overwhelmed and I’m the mom. So sometimes we take what we can get. And if what we can get is a late lunch with some day drinking then we will take that. But no one ever asks me what restaurants to go to or where the best *insert food type here* place is because hell if I know. Those people who go OUT for a date? Or even worse those moms who regularly get alone time? You might as well speak another lanuage to me because I don’t understand. Like at all.

So when I see these women having these date night for NO PARTICULAR REASON OTHER THAN THEY CAN I get a little judgy. Or the moms that actually can go on vacation without kids? Shut up. Just shut your dirty whore mouth right now. Chad and I spend most of our alone time together on the couch watching Curb your Enthusiasm. After a beer I get really tired and go to bed. Dex is still up a few times a night so it’s not like I am ever well rested anyway. But seriously, who ARE these women anyway?? What kind of magical fairy babysitter dust did you get sprinkled all over your ass?



Moms that lose all the baby weight right away.

Moms that have perky boobs after breastfeeding.

Moms that drive normal cars.

Moms that have clean houses.

First time moms that say stupid shit like they have any idea at all about what they are talking about. TALK TO ME WHEN YOU HAVEN’T SLEPT IN MONTHS AND YOUR BOOBS ARE DRAGGING ON THE FLOOR AFTER HAVE NURSED 3 KIDS. You’re a newbie. NEW BEE. And it’s possible I am jealous of their newness. Nothing is new to me anymore, and I kind of miss those firsts.

I mean the list goes on and on. I am not saying it’s right that I am jealous and in turn judge. I am just saying it happens.

The reality is I am self aware enough to know that it’s not a healthy emotion. Some people wear their struggles on their sleeve for all to see and some don’t. Facebook allows a lot of us to portray ourselves to be a certain way, hiding the things we don’t want others to see and putting the pretty things out on display. It creates this false idea of what parenting life is like. Parenting is hard. It’s wonderful and fun and full of excitement. But it’s also stressful and challenging and surrounded by tears (me) and violent outbursts (also me).

I get jealous and I judge and I am not proud of it. But at least I can admit that. At least I can be honest about the ugliness of my personality and say that it’s something I am aware of and am constantly trying to work on. I fail and I succeed and I try. It’s a train in constant motion that just cycles through the phases of emotions.

Because the reality is we are all just trying to hang on to the brief moments of life we have here. We hang on with the whites of our knuckles and we grip it to death. No one is perfect. I am not perfect. I am flawed and messy and hopped up on caffeine most of the time. But at least I can say that and be ok with the truth.

It’s the ones that actually think they have their shit together that you shouldn’t trust. Because that is just a lie. A dirty dirty lie.

Like sobriety.

Or decaf coffee.

Shit Show 2016

I realize this blog isn’t about politics. I generally talk about my kids or coffee or my love for all things alcohol related.  But we have one of the most important presidential races going on right now in our history, and in the idea of free speech and Democracy, I think it should be ok for me to voice my own opinions here. Living a life afraid of offending people can get old and wear down on someone. I believe that it’s a sign of emotional maturity to hear someone’s opinion and accepting the fact that your opinion might not match up. We can’t all think the same way, our differences are what makes us all so unique and special.

So here we go.

Anyone else want to pack up all their belongings and move to another country? I know I do.

Because we have 2 of the most ridiculous and embarrassing nominees for president. I mean if Ashton Kutcher jumps out from behind a wall and tells us all it was a prank that would make sense. IT WOULD MAKE MORE SENSE THAN WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW.

Here is the thing about these women that are using the nomination of Hillary Clinton as fodder for their idea of feminism and women’s equality. It’s all just a load of bullshit. I would hate for Ramona to grow up and want to be Hillary Clinton. I don’t see a woman when I look at Hillary Clinton. I see a politician that aligns her opinions with whomever is lining her pockets the best. She happens to be a woman. But that to me is just a technicality. She is a politician first. A self serving politician first and foremost, that just happens to be a woman.

You know what is really backwards? Women thinking this is some sort of new revolution. When I see posts about how now these mothers believe their daughters can do anything and achieve anything because we have the first woman as a presidential nominee, I wonder if they see how SO FAR BEHIND the United States is. It’s nothing to be proud of, it’s humiliating that it’s taken so damn long for us to get here. You know in 1980 Iceland had it’s first female president.


Or Nicaragua. Sri Lanka. Ireland. Panama. The Phillipines. India. Argentina. Taiwan….

We aren’t first, we aren’t even remotely the first. If I wanted to instill some idea of feminism into my daughter I wouldn’t look to Clinton.

And Trump? I can’t even. It’s too ridiculous to even talk about.

How did we get here?

I will say this. This is the first election that people are finally waking up enough to care. Bernie Sanders has given everyone a big cup of coffee and many people are seeing what is actually going on. Obviously he didn’t win the nomination but it’s exposed the corruption in the political party. How these politicians are just talking heads to the corporations that pay for them.

My husband and I have seen this trend in our society for a long time, well before this shit show of an election. I am happy to see so many people participate and become interested in what is actually going on around them.

You don’t have to support a particular candidate, you don’t even have to agree with anything that I am saying. But to bury your head in the sand and think what is happening is ok on any level, well that is just doing yourself a disservice.

This is the makings of our future. And our kids future. This shit is important. Whatever you believe, believe it, own it, back it up with your passion. If you take away only one thing from this election, take away the fact that we are all responsible for what is happening. None of us have the luxury to be innocent bystanders. Wake up, participate, and involve yourself in what is going on.

Because, this is only the beginning.

It will get worse. So. Much. Worse.

Cancer. A short story.

I want to build a bar in a cancer hospital. 

Where all the cancer parents and cancer patients ( other than kids…unless their parents are present because that is responsible parenting) can go and drink for free. 

Because cancer sucks and drinking helps.

So all the parents and patients and loved ones can get cancer drunk because fuck cancer.

Also why don’t cancer moms get discounts on wine?

That just seems like neglectful legislation. 

Because cancer hospitals suck. They are filled with cancer families and patients all tired and pissed off and needing a drink. Like a shot of whisky straight up kind of drink. Cancer drinking isn’t wine coolers or bottles of Zima. 

It’s shots of tequila and fireball. 

Screw social propriety. Midday drinking in a hospital should be ok. Hell it should be encouraged. 

Also chocolate should be supplied. 

The End.